


Guide Me

by SweetVennum64



Category: Leverage
Genre: Buried Alive, First Kiss, M/M, Mild Language, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetVennum64/pseuds/SweetVennum64
Summary: "…for a second I actually forgot I was buried alive…again.”
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	Guide Me

**Author's Note:**

> There's really no point to this story other than the fact that I was watching The Underground Job episode recently and wondered what would have happened if Eliot and Hardison had gotten trapped in the mine together.
> 
> Note: Yes, the Underground Job came before The Grave Danger Job...I just thought it would add some meat to Hardison's frustration if I'd altered the timelines a smidge....
> 
> Or, just a lame excuse to write some Eliot/Hardison "bonding"...

The first thing he notices when he comes to is that his head hurts so badly that he almost wishes he could be knocked unconscious again just so he doesn’t have to deal with it. A low whimper stuck in the back of his throat as he lifts his hand to brush his fingertips across his temple, his arm feels so heavy that it’s like he’s moving underwater.

He hisses through his teeth when his fingers awaken a new pain just under his hairline. He traces the gash on his forehead and his fingers come away sticky and wet so he knows there’s blood and if he thinks about that too hard right now things could get very bad, very quickly so he focuses his senses on other things. He wiggles his toes and takes a relieved breath. At least his spine is okay. He smells dirt and earth and…wood?

Dust and something else he can’t name sits trapped in the back of his throat. He wants to cough but instinct tells him not to. He holds his breath but all he can hear is the faint rush of water somewhere far off. He squints his eyes, trying to force them to adjust to the darkness.

The last thing he remembers is walking through the stupid mine with Blackwell and Eliot and Blackwell had wandered ahead. The bomb Blackwell planted had gone off prematurely, the ceiling opened up like a black hole, and rubble and debris poured in on top of him and then lights out.

Blinking rapidly, he forces himself to a sitting position, the rush of blood to his head makes him dizzy but he doesn’t pay attention to that because why can’t he see anything? His breath starts to quicken and he feels like he’s about to start hyperventilating because he’s waving his hand in front of his own face and… _nothing._ No visual stimulation at all.

“Oh shit. Oh.. _shit…”_ he whispers, his words prickly with the hysterical edge of panic. “I’m blind…I..”

“You ain’t blind.” A rough and familiar voice sounds from somewhere nearby.

Hardison startles, turns his head in the direction of the voice, and tries again to squint against the darkness. “ _Eliot?”_

He hears the scrape of Eliot’s boots to his right so he scrambles to get to his feet, his arms flailing out trying to find something, _anything_ to hold on to.

“Eliot?” he whispers again when his hand brushes across warm, wet skin.

“Yeah.” Eliot sounds irritated which is nothing new for Eliot. But this time it’s probably because Hardison is feeling him up, tugging on his hair and tracing the lines of his bare arms up to his biceps and then across his chest to meet in the middle. Almost frantically memorizing Eliot’s body with his fingertips.

“Why can’t I see anything, man?”

“Gee, I don’t know, Hardison! Maybe it’s because we’re buried underground?” Eliot huffs before stepping back and out of Hardison’s reach, leaving him to flail for balance again.

He makes a face at Eliot but then realizes that Eliot can’t see it so he settles for a heavy sigh.

“So how the hell are you just moving around without running into shit then?” He asks, his eyebrows creasing as he listens to the scrape of Eliot’s boots moving steadily away from him.

“I mapped the area while you were out.” He says, his voice less harsh than it was a second ago. “Roughly rectangular, 50 feet across, give or take. Air tight. The only way out is behind you…”

Hardison turns and blinks into the nothingness behind him. “What?” He tries to move toward the direction where he heard Eliot’s voice last but he bangs his knee on something hard and jagged so he just stops moving again completely, fingers reflexively grabbing at air.

“It’s completely closed off.” Eliot continues. “The explosion made the entire damn thing collapse onto itself.” Eliot’s voice sounds strange and Hardison wishes to God that he could see his face.

Awesome. Fan-fucking-tastic. Great. This is so not good. He’s having flashbacks of being buried in that damn coffin. Jesus. He feels like he’s gonna pass out again. He hates this. At least he had the cell phone for light in the coffin. Now he’s just left to stare into the nothingness with a grumpy, creepy Eliot hovering somewhere like a lion. He has a strange tingling in his spine like he’s being hunted and he just wants to back himself up against the stone wall and make this all go away.

“Hardison...” Eliot’s voice is much closer again and Hardison spins around.

“ _Jesus.”_ He darts his arms out and feels the rough stubble on Eliot’s face brushing against the backs of his fingers before Eliot moves swiftly out of his reach again. Asshole. “Would you stand still?”

“Listen, you need to calm down.” Eliot says, still close enough to Hardison where he can feel the heat radiating off of him.

“I _am_ calm.” He spits. “You’re the one bouncin’ all over the place like the king of teleportation.”

He can practically hear Eliot grinding his teeth together and he would back down but Eliot just doesn’t have the same effect on him when he can’t see the murderous stare he knows Eliot is no doubt wearing.

“I can hear you, Hardison. And I don’t know how much oxygen we have left so if you can’t control your breathing I’m gonna have to knock you out again.”

He’s _almost_ sure that Eliot is joking but he’s not gonna risk it since Eliot apparently has the advantage here. He forces himself to slow his breathing, listening to the echoes of Parker’s voice in his head telling him to take a deep breath in….deep breath out…

“Listen man. I’m tryin’, okay? But you ain't makin’ things no better.” He’s starting to get angry and that’s good because it distracts him from the paralyzing fear that’s been griping him since the moment he woke up on the floor. “You bein’ all grumpy and dodgin’ me so you can go lurk off in the corner ain’t helpin’ me stay calm, okay? So if you’d quit bein’ an ass for like half a second…“

There’s a moment where the only thing he can hear is his own heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears and he thinks that maybe Eliot tunneled his way out and left him behind until he feels Eliot’s hands, strong and awkward on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” Eliot says and it comes out more like a demand than an apology but Hardison’s not gonna get nitpicky right now.

“Just think about… _World of Witchcraft_ or somethin’” Eliot offers half-heartedly and Hardison gets a little bit irritated.

He shrugs Eliot’s hands off and steps back, stumbling over a piece of debris, before standing up straight again. He’s certain he hears the huff of Eliot’s laughter but he can’t be totally sure without the gift of sight to grant him proof.

“First of all, its _World of Warcraft!”_ He grits and glares into the darkness. “Secondly, fuck you, man.” He says because he’s on a roll now. “You’re the reason I’m down here in the first place! You know what small spaces do to me now and you…you still...” His mind is swimming and he feels like he’s crumbling.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he’s overreacting and that he’s being irrational. This isn’t Eliot’s fault. They all wanted to take Blackwell down and they were all willing to do whatever it took. Up to and including walking into a creepy old mine _knowing_ that there was a bomb inside and _knowing_ that Blackwell had the detonator.

But it’s not fair that Eliot gets to be the calm, cool, and collected one while Hardison fights to keep his lunch in his stomach.

He strips his overshirt off and tosses it who the hell knows where, and swipes his hand over his face collecting the sweat dripping off of his skin. “I…I can’t do this El. I can’t. It’s too dark and too hot, I can’t breathe and…and…”

His voice dies violently in his throat when he hears the heavy thud of Eliot’s boots again, this time he’s coming toward him instead of away. Eliot doesn’t even stumble and _how in the hell_ is he not stumbling?

He’s bracing for the knockout punch but instead feels Eliot’s hand wrap around his wrist, thumb resting lightly on his pulse point.

“ _Hardison.”_ He says again, an undertone of concern in his voice. “You need to slow your heartbeat man, you need a distraction.”

Eliot gives his wrist a tight squeeze, swiping his thumb back and forth over the tender vein there and it causes goosebumps to prickle and come alive all over Hardison’s body, despite the humidity in the air. See, he’s used to gruff Eliot. Grumpy Eliot. Scary Eliot. He’s familiar with heavy and commanding Eliot. But he only gets _gentle_ Eliot on very rare occasions, when death, or near-death is involved.

And now Hardison has a different kind of heat running through his body.

His whole world shrinks to the feel of Eliot’s thumb resting against his skin. He can smell Eliot’s hair and his soap but also the sticky smell of sweat and it takes him home. It feels like home. So naturally, he steps in, closer to where he thinks Eliot is. The toes of their boots are now touching and Hardison’s breath is coming out in short, choppy stutters and Eliot. Well, Eliot still hasn’t let him go and he’s gone completely quiet.

The next thing Hardison knows, he’s using his free hand to map out Eliot’s jawline and uses his own thumb to trace the edge of Eliot’s lips, slightly parted and wet and he hears Eliot’s breath catch.

He’d _never_ have the balls to do this out in the open. Hell, he’d stopped trying to decipher the very strange things that Eliot makes him feel. There’s always a burning, desire induced fear that tingles just underneath his skin when Eliot is near and he really doesn’t know what to do with it. And he’d been ready to just chalk it up to insanity and ignore it like most functional human beings do.

But then this happened and isn’t the universe just screaming at him to just do it? What other time is he going to be trapped in complete darkness in a tiny room with Eliot?

Okay, fine. In their line of work, he’s probably going to be trapped in several dark rooms with Eliot but that’s not the point.

The point is that he’s leaning in now, slow enough where Eliot can track his movements and read his intent. Slow enough to give Eliot a chance to pull away.

He’s close enough to feel Eliot’s breath on his lips now so he knows Eliot can feel him too and he’s still _right here._

“Eliot…” He whispers just before their lips touch. It’s warm and soft at first but then it goes wet when Eliot opens up for him, giving him permission to slick his tongue inside and taste him for the first time.

It exactly everything he’d thought it would be and at the same time, it’s nothing like he would ever imagine because Eliot is letting him lead the way. Eliot has his head tilted back and just lets Hardison feed.

Give Hardison an inch…

He pushes his hand back into Eliot’s hair and tilts him just the way he wants, sucking on Eliot’s tongue and eating at his lips. He moans into Eliot’s mouth because this is too much. Too much and not enough and he doesn’t want it to end. He dives in impossibly deeper, mapping every inch of Eliot’s mouth just in case…

It’s over far too quickly and Eliot steps back again, with Hardison clinging to him.

“Wait…” Hardison says, a slight whine to his voice that he refuses to acknowledge.

“Hardison…” Eliot warns.

“Come on, man. That was- I mean…for a second I actually forgot I was buried alive… _again_.” Hardison says on a half-hearted chuckle before leaning back in, lips finding a spot on Eliot’s neck just below his jaw bone. Eliot’s skin is feverishly hot and slick, and he groans when he feels the tip of Hardison’s tongue there.

“We…I shouldn’t…we shouldn’t be doing this.” Eliot tries again.

In Hardison’s right mind, he knows that this is a monumentally bad idea. What’s done in the dark (pun intended) comes to light eventually and Hardison’s not sure he’s ready to deal with that.

But right now Hardison isn’t in his right mind. His mind is pretty fucked up at this point because he’s sucking a bruise on Eliot’s neck right now and Eliot is _letting_ him. He has no idea why Eliot is letting him get away with this and he probably should be a little worried at that fact but then he feels the light brush of Eliot’s fingertips against his waist and all thought is lost on him.

He concentrates on the warm press of Eliot’s hand and feels his grip tighten, and then he’s being pushed backward and he just goes with it, holding on for dear life.

They end up against the wall. The rough edges of the rock digging into Hardison’s back with the hard press of Eliot against his front. Eliot’s got one knee shoved in between Hardison’s legs and it’s just the right amount of pressure to push Hardison to fully hard now. He finds Eliot’s mouth again and the kiss is frantic. Both of Hardison’s hands are buried in the hair at Eliot’s nape and Eliot has his hand under Hardison’s shirt, scraping at his abdomen with blunt nails.

Eliot is owning his mouth and Hardison is so down with that. He’s ruined. Eliot has ruined him. How the hell is anyone gonna else gonna top this?

When Eliot pulls away this time, Hardison lets him because at this point he’s ready to drop to his knees and let Eliot have his way.

“Shit…” Hardison whispers. “That was…”

“Distracting?” Eliot finishes, letting the smugness bleed through.

Hardison tries to smack him but Eliot dodges out of the way because apparently he’s a freak of nature and Hardison stumbles before Eliot steady’s him with sure hands.

“Shut up. Look. Between my brains and your…um..hands…I’m sure we can figure a way out of here, okay?” Hardison says, feeling a little calmer and _a lot_ hornier.

Eliot scoffs. “Yeah, it’ll be a piece of cake…”

“Damn right.” Hardison says, ignoring Eliot’s sarcasm. “Age of the Geek, baby. Now let’s get to diggin'. We got a lot to discuss when we get out of here.”

He’s imagining Eliot’s head down, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose when he says “Dammit, Hardison…”


End file.
